PS 3545 
•fl754 
V4 

1915 

Copy I 



yors^ 



eUude f. 9fashburti 




orse^ 



FUude g 9fdshhum 



3^^ 



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©Cl.A4104eO 

DEC i>^ 1915 



TO MY MOTHER 



A MORMIMG IN MAT 



WAS out in tke cool of the morning, 
WKen tke birds \were beginning to sing; 
EacK calling to eacK 

In the day newly born; 

Each calling to each 

In the fresh-scented morn,— 

Calling: "Oh, it is spring! it is spring!" 

And the dew-laden lilacs about me. 

And the hum of an early bee's wing. 

And the murmuring boughs 

Of the new-lea\)ing trees, 

And the soft-stirring boughs. 

Rustling low in the breeze. 

Whispered: "Ah, it is spring! it is spring!" 



AM OLD ATTIC 



N tnrougK tKe gable vJindow pours tKe sun 
Upon tKe sloping \\'alls and oaken beams, 
Setting the dust awKirl in slanting streams; 
And lighting up old cobxiJebs long since spun. 

Without, there is the twittering of birds. 
And sound of children's laughter in the street; 
But here xiJithin it is so still the beat 
Of my own heart seems to be throbbing words. 

Relics of years long dead lie all around— 
A harpsichord, a broken spinning-wheel, 
Dilapidated boxes that conceal 
Lavender-scented garments ribbon-bound. 

It is a place half sorrowful, half sweet, 
Where one may go at dusk and sit alone, 
Soothing the heart-ache of the day just gone 
With the dim memories of this old retreat. 



IN THE MEADOW 



H, tKe meadov7-grass v?as KigK 
When my lo^e came tripping by, 
Carolling; 
And my lo^e sKe savJ me not, 
As I stood there, flushing hot, 
Worshipping! 



Sunny hair and laughing eyes. 
Wilful hair that ever flies, 

Uncontrolled,— 
Ah, my \o-0e \Cas fair to see, 
As she passed so close to me, 

Overbold! 



DEATH 



tl 



DREAMED I saw DeatK standing by my bed. 

His face was calm, tKougK very pale and wan; 

Still was Ke not, as often books Have said, 
A pkantom horrible to look upon; 
Yet, knowing wKo Ke \Oas, I would Kave fled, 
But could not do so, for my strength •vJas gone. 
Death gaEed upon me with his mournful eyes, 
And \^hispered, holding forth his hand: 'Arise!" 

Death's eyes were very tender, and his hair 
Swept soft above his forehead, and it seemed 
That suddenly all terror and despair 
Were quite gone from me, till at last I dreamed 
I cried out: "Death, ah. Death, but thou art fair! 
I love thee more than ever I esteemed 
My life!"— but, smiling sadly, Death replied: 
' Nay, an thou wouldst, thou mayst not come. Abide!" 



THE MASS 



m 



IM was it in the nave; the pillared dusk, 
Soft-perfumed ^)?ith the measured rhythmic swing 
Of golden censers, incense winnowing, 
Was fragrant \Oith the scent of myrrh and musk. 

And from the mighty organ came a plaint, 
So immemorially sad an air 
The crimson twilight shuddered it to bear, 
And the lov?-kneeIing worshippers gre^ faint. 



SAINT CATHERINE 



LL in a golden kaze tKere knelt a maid 
BeneatK a staine'd -window v?Kence, displayed 
In sacred glory, good Saint Catnerine 
Looked do'pJn upon Ker as sKe knelt and prayed. 

Calm >was the maiden's face, save for tke glor»?— 
Like yellov? lamp-lignt snining on the snov?— 
Her yellow tresses cast upon Ker cheek, 
As never did Saint Catherine's, I troxC. 

Her eyes v7ere brown like amber, and they shone 
Wet-lashed and tender, while she knelt alone. 
She knev? not that I watched her as she prayed, 
Nor had been half so fair if she had known. 



MY LADY 



Y lady woke at dead of night, 
(Stark fear stood in my lady's eyes) 
And Ker face in tKe shadow was ghastly white, 
Like the pallid face of a vJraith by night. 
(But my lady could not rise.) 

She could not rise, yet she came to me. 
(Cold, ah cold, v?ere her finger -tips!) 
Her eyes were wide, but they could not see; 
And I shook in the ^ery soul of me. 
(Chill ^ere my lady's lips!) 



SWEET JESSAMINE 



ILACS, purple 'gainst tke green 
Of your dark lea^Jes vJet -with dev?, 
Perfumed petals wKose pink sKeen 

Ever skimmers witK the dew,— 

Ye are very fair, I vJeen: 

But my love v?ears jessamine. 

Apple -blossoms drifting in 
TnrougK tke v?indovi? of my room, 
Apple -blossoms pink and tkin, 
Scenting rosy -faint my room,— 
Ye are fair indeed, I ween: 
But my love wears jessamine. 



A DIRGE IN THE FOREST 



® 



Nl tne nignt tKe tree -tops shake and sKake. 
(WKose Kand is tkis that stirs tKem so?) 
All moaningly they quake and quake. 
OK, be still, be still, or my Keart will break! 
(WKose Kand is tKis tKat stirs it so?) 

None knovJs Kalf so well as I! 
It is tKe deatK-wind sweeping by. 



THE STAR -NET 






HE star -beams hung in a mist around you, 
All in a faint star -mist they v7ouncl you, 
Fragrant, and wistfully swaying, and pale. 
And lavender -tinted, but, ah, so frail!— 
I loved you fairly, 
I loved you rarely. 
Pressing my lips to the web that bound you. 

And well I knew you could but be seen thus, 
Thus, with the soft star -net between us. 
Woe is me, for the star -veil melted; 
In a fairy pool the star-beams pelted: 

And yet more fleet 

Were your fairy -feet. 
For the great red eye of the day had seen us. 



NIGHT SONG 






ERE on tke roses is dew, 
TKere is star-tipped de>w on tne clover; 
A wKippoorwill calls from tKe yew 
Over and over and over. 

Fire-flies wKeel by, weaving 
Of the nigkt a tapestry 
So frail can you Kelp believing 
TKe fairy-fqlk must see? 

OK, tKe meadow is made for dances, 
And over it breezes Kave strewn 
All flowers tKat a fairy fancies, 
BreatKing softly: "Come soon! Come soon! 

For Kere on tKe roses is dew, 
"TKere is star-tipped dew on tKe clover; 
A wKippoorwill calls from tKe yew 
Over and over and over." 



DREAMS 



DOR of lilacs steals to me 
Fron\ the Dusrt at tne window-sill: 
Anci over my soul the dreams drift by, 
Like clouds on a distant kill. 

AIL flecked witK amethyst and gold 
They float on noiselessly: 
But I oelieve, so frail tney seem, 
T Key are foam of a fairy sea. 

WitK slow fantastic imagery 
Forever tKey sKift and cKange, 
Like pKantom sKadows in tKe Kails 
Of some old sea-castle strange. 

And once I would Kave Keld tKe dream 
I cannot but love most. 
AK, now, altKougK I watcK alway, 
TKe fairest dream is lost! 



Odor of lilacs steals to me 
From tKe busk at tKe window-sill; 
And over my soul the dreams drift by, 
Like clouds on a distant Kill. 



EMBERS 



"TT-fjIIME was wKen many tKings seemed beautiful- 
N-® I ISJigKt, and a rose, and sunbeams on tKe sea, 



And tKe wKite clouds tkat drifted over me; 
And now remain but two whicK are not dull, 
Only tKese two— deatK and tke memory 
WKicK I evoke from this dead lock of Kair; 
TKougK I am told tkat God's face too is fair. 



i6 



SONG 



LL day I dwell with sorrow, 
And though the day may be 
Fair, yet the touch of sorrow 
Clings close, like a memory. 

All night I dream of roses, 
And though the dream may be 
Sad, yet the scent of roses 
Drifts through, like a melody. 



THE MOON WAS HID IN A MIST 



tT 



HE moon was hid in a mist tonight, 
Soft as sea-foam and so white! 

The little stars danced over it, 
And the little stars swang under it. 
But the moon was hid in a mist, 
A sleeping princess not yet kissed 
Out of darkness into light; 
And I said: "Where is he who shall keep the tryst? 

Sees he not that the moon is hid in a mist? 
"Is there no red star who fain would fight 
For the moon his mistress in her plight? 
' Oh, the moon is hid in a mist!" 
Like the sound of the surf in a fairy shell. 
Like the sound of some sweet enchanted bell, 
I heard the stars laugh over me. 
The little stars laugh down at me, 
Though the moon was hid in a mist. 
Save only one, but I could tell 



He was too small to break the spell. 

He was so small Ke could not quite 

Walk, but crept up through the night, 

Up and behind the mist. 

But soon he crept back in gay flight. 

With laughter of such soft delight, 

So sweet and slender, well I wist 

No star could laugh that way in fright. 

And I said to myself: "Mayhap it is well," 

And I asked the star, but he would not tell: 

The moon was hid in a mist. 



'<? 



HOW CLOSE THE DEAD SLEEP 



OW close the dead sleep in this silent place! 

Piercing the gloom 
Of guardian oaks, the moon-beams drift and trace 
Strange shifting characters across the face 

Of tomb on tomb 
Innumerable. Beneath there is no space 
Unfilled— so close the dead sleep in this place. 

Above them bloom 
Pale flowers:-why should we grant them other grace? 
Friends, aliens, foes, they are now but one race 

Who need no room. 
How close the dead sleep in this silent place! 



ANNO MCMXIV 



m 



AR, tke red ogre, is loose upon the world. 
He is free; his broKen cnains flaunt; witn 
advancing strides, 



Like fear, like a curse, like pestilence, he Kas hurled 
Himself through the air, through the land, through the 
blue sea-tides. 

Nought else abides. 

His famished hands clutch, as they sweep, the bodies 

of men. 
They are red, and his writhing mouth and his body 

are red. 
A tempest of pain and hunger, hungry again. 
He crushes their shrunken souls. (It is long since he fed.) 
Their souls lie dead. 

Pity and Christ and Love have fled from the earth. 
Women's tears, hate, horror, insanity, 
These and the Ogre War in his vast rebirth 
Alone remain,— save just the far memory 
Of Galilee. 



TO THE SILENT 






WIND of singing stirs tKe air; 
Old >weary words wake in new might; 
And never, never, an37where, 
Was it more sweet to sing, or right. 
But the others, 
Our mute brothers. 
Lying somewhere in the trenches day and night:— 
Little time have they for song; they can out watch and 
fight. 

Flanders" and France" are words of fire, 
Alsace" a banner flaunting nigh; 
Rheims" glows with a deep vengeful ire. 
Can poets let such words slip by? 
But, an, brothers, 
Our mute brothers. 
Lying somewhere witn your fac^s toward the sky: — 
Nobler is your silence, though it last eternally. 



TWO SICILIAN CITIES 



I. TAORMIMA 



I HE sky is a painted sky. The sunlight slips 
So carefully tkrougK almond-blossoms. Pan, 
A munching goat, smiles placidly at man. 
Dramatically down, the high cliff dips, 
To where, enchanted, loved by Attic ships. 
Haunted by gods since ever gods began. 
The sea, the sweet, the blue, the Ionian, 
Kisses the shore with indolent white lips 

Flowers on the walls, soft perfume in the air, 
Maidens with jugs set on their sun-burnt hair,— 
I hat is the village. Yonder your eyes meet 
The line of Aetna flowing up the sky, 
And turn back, dazed with beauty, to the street, 
Where peasants' little painted carts go by. 



II. MESSINA 






HIS was tne fairest town of Sicily; 
But deatn came in tne night and sKattered all 
The palaces. Still here and there the tall 

Facades stand flanking the streets hollowly: 

And through the vacant windows you may see 

A tattered curtain flapping, or a small 

Madonna brooding on a ruined wall. 

Silence, decay, abandon, misery! 

Nlothing ends ever. All things re-begin,— 
Life and delight and suffering and sin. 
A brief half-mile away life grovels. There 
They have built the new town on a rubbish heap; 
Long lines of wooden huts, gaunt, ugly, bare. 
I know not if to wonder or to weep. 



as 



FLOWERS IN FRANCE 



m 



REAMING of France, I mind me hov? 
Tne poppies in tKe fields would dance, 
ToucKing tKe green ^itK scarlet. Now 
Tnere are no flowers left in France. 

In the sx»?eet fields no violet breathes. 
There are no flowers, save, perchance. 
The barren artificial wreaths 
They lay upon the graves in France. 



26 



Copj^iigKted 1915 

by 

Claude C. WashlTum 



m!mn,f^,!ii'^ °'' CONGRESS 



018 395 486 6 



